


There's a Whole World in His Eyes

by backwards_silver



Category: Homeland
Genre: I can see this happening, but it's also kind of cute, can these two get together already?, carrie is brash, i love the way these two argue, one-night stand-ish, post s3 episode 7, quinn is stoic, the "almost one night stand", unwise liquor consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25348162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwards_silver/pseuds/backwards_silver
Summary: “What?” She challenged again, impertinent, moving her body even closer but he just responded by stepping back slightly, eyes holding hers. “Carrie, you’re drunk, strung out and you need to sleep.” His words were carefully neutral. He didn’t elaborate on what exactly what that had to do with the current situation but she had a feeling she knew what he meant. She wanted him to say it outright though, the fire in her stomach was pushing her to make him do something. She wanted to kiss him, that’s what she really wanted...
Relationships: Carrie Mathison & Peter Quinn, Carrie Mathison/Peter Quinn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	There's a Whole World in His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> A little 'almost one night stand' fic I imagined. Set after Carrie ropes Quinn into her latest self-imposed mission to find the bomber in season 3. I find it astonishing that Carrie (who seems to sleep with nearly every coworker she has, and tried to seduce SAUL at one point) never came on to Quinn or the other way around. So here's a little "what could've happened".
> 
> p.s. NEW fic writer on here, love to hear your thoughts! And if you just want to rant about C/Q I'm all for that, too! I can't get enough of these two. :)

Quinn walked out of the house, startling Carrie out of her thoughts. Her mind was fixed on the possibility of finding the bomber to clear Brody’s name, but the seriousness on Quinn’s face pulled her out of her thoughts. He saw her standing by her car, waiting, and stopped for a second, surprised. She was about the last person he’d expect to be waiting for him at the end of the day.

“How’d it go?” She asks, his expression betrayed his exhaustion but she hoped he’d been successful at getting the detectives off the scent and deterring any possibility of burning Javadi. “They’re standing down.” His voice was soft, tired. “So it went well,” Carrie concluded, deciding that the mission had been accomplished, relieved to be rid of one of the many hurdles of this operation so far. Quinn looked away, “What do they say, confession is good for the soul?” He could almost sound sarcastic if not for the look on his face, he looked haunted, almost. Carrie squinted her brows in confusion, “Only you didn’t do it…” She was unsure what he was getting at, he seemed awfully shaken up for a crime he didn’t even commit.

“I know, but it made me feel better.”

“Wrong crime, right guy, I guess.” He states with wandering eyes, looking a bit lost. But he's so serious.

“You know what else I realized? Just how through I am with…this…the CIA. I just do not believe anymore.” Carrie listened with mild confusion, wondering what was going on in his head, where this self-distaste is coming from.

“Believe what?” She asked, irked.

“That anything justifies the damage we do.” He looked entirely convicted, staring at her with finality, almost unsettling her until she reminded herself of her original goal. Quinn, done with the CIA? Where was that even coming from? She tilted her head, expression giving away her perplexity once more, and sighed. She didn’t have time for this. Maybe another day she’d bring it up to him, and maybe this was just a one-time phase Quinn was going through after his odd soul-searching confession, but Carrie had other things on her mind.

“You can’t quit yet,” she told him, and he glanced away, briefly, sucking in a breath, as though he wasn’t sure why he said anything to begin with. “Javadi’s out over the Atlantic heading home an he told me something before he left, about the Langley bomber.”

“You mean Brody,” Quinn said, like she was trying to hide from the reality of what Brody did. Blunt honesty as usual, and it riled her feathers once again. The way he looked at her like he just knew. “No! That’s just it, it wasn’t him.” She fired back, defensive, “And I can prove it now, but…” She paused, biting her lip for a second, feeling a bit irreverent to the way he’d just laid his heart out earlier. Nevertheless, she pressed on, this was important, no matter what crisis of conscience Quinn was having, this was a chance to catch the real bomber and surely he’d see that, too. “I need you help.” She finally told him, letting the cat out of the bag.

Quinn stared at her for a second, like he was trying to comprehend what she’d just said, before his expression turned to weary frustration. He was conflicted, she could tell, but she was desperate and he couldn’t just let her down, not now, not when they finally had a break. “Quinn?” He met her eyes again, swallowing back whatever it was he was thinking, whatever internal conflicts were warring in that head of his. “Sure, Carrie, whatever you need.” He said, polite and measured, like he was convincing himself it was true. She nodded, thankful to know he was still on her side. It was a small victory but a step in the right direction.

She watched him leave, feeling a tiny bit of guilt, doubt over whether she’d done the right thing, but it was mostly overshadowed by her relief that she was going to get the real Langley bomber, she would finally get Brody back, clear his name, and maybe have the future she’d always dreamed of with him. Quinn hadn’t let her down, as she knew he wouldn’t. Whatever was wrong with him, they could talk about it some other day, but tonight she would focus on the wins and not the losses. Or try to. But she was no champion at letting things go, and this was one of those things. She drove back to Langley in a perturbed mood, antsy, questioning. The search couldn’t wait until morning, who knew how much time and how many ideas she’d waste sleeping over it.

–

Quinn closed the car door and started the engine, feeling an odd lump in his throat. It was too much, all at once. Flashes of Fariba and Javadi’s daughter in law, laying in pools of their own blood, a bloody broken bottle sitting on the floor of his bathroom, a crying baby watching his mother and grandmother die right in front of him, his grandfather ripping open his grandma’s neck in the most inhumane way possible, smiling with disgusting calmness when he left to see Saul.

Quinn pulled away from the curb and his mind went to the detective, staring at him with all the disgust he’d ever felt for himself, unable to wrap his mind around the horrid travesties that followed people like them everywhere they went. He thought of a little boy, laying in a tiny pool of blood on the floor of a mansion in Caracas, shot to death for nothing but the sins of his father. So small, innocent, wandering in the dark looking for his dad, killed by a bullet straight to the head, a death fit for a criminal, not a nine year old child.

Quinn felt sick all of the sudden, his throat closing up and stomach swirling, he pulled over to the edge of the curb in the middle of a quiet neighborhood street, dark except for the pale yellow glow of the streetlights, peaceful, the epitome of normalcy. The kind of simple life that Fariba’s daughter in law had, a suburban neighborhood with her tiny child, happy little family away from any of this mess. Now she was lying dead, leaving a motherless child in her wake.

Everywhere they went, terror, damage. Quinn swallowed hard, pushing down the emotions rising to the surface, enough to quell the nausea he felt, at least temporarily. He resumed driving again, heading to the place he called home for the next few weeks, maybe months, now that he’d signed himself up to help Carrie with her newest plan to save Brody. He couldn’t fathom the fact that he’d just agreed to do all of this over again, bury himself back into this mess of darkness and evil that he’d sworn he was finally going to leave. Seeing that child lying dead on the ground had been enough for him to finally make that decision, he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t do it.

He’d gone to the psych evaluation, talked to the therapist, told her of his intent to leave. He wanted to get out so badly, couldn’t stop the horrible nightmares and flashbacks, like all his past misdeeds and the lives he took were coming back to haunt him every single damn day. The greater good seemed further and further away, like a giant rouse that people used to cover up their own horror and guilt, make them feel better about all the damage they’d done and would continue to do. But here he was, he’d just stepped back into the darkness, ready to be dragged back down for something that he didn’t even know would end well, knowing Brody it wouldn’t.

But it was Carrie, so of course he did it. He couldn’t let her down, no matter how twisted up it made him feel inside, he couldn’t say no, leave her hanging. It felt inevitable, like he’d always be trying to look out for her in whatever way he could, for reasons he wasn’t even sure of himself.

“Whatever you need, Carrie.” He’d told her. It was true, he’d be doing whatever she needed as long as she was in his orbit. It was a pull he couldn’t even escape and sometimes he didn’t know if wanted to. Every time he was around her, he worried about her, in a way he hadn’t felt for anyone in a long time. He had a constant, nagging thought in the back of his mind that was always wondering whether she was okay, if she needed anything, if she was in danger. When he was away from her it felt like he could finally breathe again yet he still found himself worrying, as though it was a tie he couldn’t cut, one he wasn’t even sure how it’d gotten there in the first place.

She wasn’t aware of that tie, he was certain about that. She was in her own world, tunnel-visioned to the feelings of those around her, unless it was Brody. With Brody she had grown an obsession that made her unable to look away, made her reckless and desperate in her actions with him. But he couldn’t blame her, he’d just done something fairly stupid and reckless himself, but he knew he’d do it a thousand more times for Carrie.

All the more reason to leave, to get away from her and the tie he’d formed to her. All the more reason to try to dig himself out of this hole he’d gone down, even just a little bit, to poke his head out and see a bit of light, do some sort of good again. Saving Brody had been the beginning of that, choosing to listen to his own head, his gut feeling that everything about killing Brody was wrong. And yet again, a major part of that decision stemmed from Carrie. She’d awakened something inside him that made him feel the things he’d been pushing away for so long.

Those nightmares and panic attacks he’d had for so long now had another weight to them, guilt and anguish, downright physical pain. Like feeling those feelings had burst a hole in the dam holding all the others back and it had crashed down on him. Almost unbearable sometimes, but he’d never let on, especially not to Carrie. She’d likely never know how she made him feel, couldn’t see anything outside the tunnel she’d built for herself around Brody, but he’d keep doing those things for her anyway, as long as she was here.

It felt bitterly ironic, the way he was pulled back into something he was trying to leave, solely for the purpose of exonerating her traitorous lover, a man who’d already done her so much damage, who seemed to continuously be such a source of pain and worry for her. He knew it was part of the reason why he’d said yes, because Brody was in no shape to take care of Carrie, not now, after disappearing into hiding, likely with Carrie’s help, and not even before the bombing was he truly there for her.

Brody loved her, not as much as Carrie loved him, but he loved her, that much was obvious. But Brody hardly made life easier for her, had too many of his own burdens, self-imposed or not, to be really be there for Carrie. She didn’t seem to see that, or care for that matter, but Quinn did. He wasn’t lying when he told Saul she was on her own, but it didn’t seem like Saul was at all surprised or concerned. Quinn knew what it was to be alone, and Carrie didn’t deserve that, she’d been through too much already, someone needed to be looking out for her, keeping her best interest at heart when she didn’t care to do it for herself. He wanted to be that person, he knew that much. But she wasn’t even on the same spectrum, she had only one man on her mind. So he said yes, again, and if it led her back to Brody, so be it, he just knew when they found each other again, Brody had better take damn good care of her, better than he had before. Somebody needed to.

Quinn arrived home to the quiet darkness of his apartment, turned one light on and shut his door, sliding down to sit against it, head against the door, eyes closed, just breathing, soaking in the stillness. Too many things to sort through, he just wanted his head clear of the mess swirling around it. Sighing, he got up and filled a glass of water. He didn’t care to eat, would probably just feel sick again and throw it up in a few hours anyway. Ever since Caracas he’d barely kept a meal down, the first time he ate after that mission he’d wretched it all up in a matter of minutes, spent the rest of the night sleeping against the wall of the bathroom, fitful bouts of sleep interrupted by nightmares and thoughts of the boy he killed. Quinn changed into a pair of sweats and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at nothing for a while, before finally laying down to sleep. Carrie would probably be already up and at it the next morning, by the time he got to the office, so he figured he’d get there early.

Quinn was deep into a dead sleep when he heard the knock on his door, startling him out of sleep in a second. He froze, listening, before climbing out of bed quickly. His gun was by his bedside as always, but he didn't grab it, knowing that an attacker likely wouldn't knock, and he was trained to kill without a weapon, anyway.

Carried stood on the other side of the door when Quinn opened it. If he was surprised, he masked it well, tilting his head ever so subtly in question. "Surprise." Carrie shrugged, huffing a humorless laugh at the situation. "I know, it's the middle of the night and it's fucking ridiculous, I just...." She shook her head, frustrated, she wasn't fully sure why she was here but it was the first thing she thought of when she left the office at 1 a.m., frustrated and restless, unable to even consider sleeping. Quinn said nothing, stepping aside to let her in and locking the door behind her. "Can I get you anything?" His voice was soft, slightly groggy. Carrie realized he was still half-asleep, he was shirtless and wearing black sweatpants, looking so much more normal in this state. She'd never seen him outside of a mission and it was an almost comforting sight to see.

"You got any vodka?" She asked bluntly, only half-joking. Quinn glanced at her with the hint of a smile, clearly bemused, but he grabbed a couple shot glasses and a bottle from the cabinet. Carrie watched him move, noticing how his hair was ruffled from sleep, making him look young and boyish, his skin tan from time spent somewhere sunny, a whole past she had not a single clue about. He filled the two glasses and handed her one, following her lead to clink in a rather amusing “cheer”.

"So, what brings you here?" He asked after downing it, resting his glass on the counter, leaning on it slightly, watching Carrie. She sighed heavily and grabbed the bottle of vodka, pouring herself another shot to drink before starting in. The words flowed out, frustrating talking for her, like his question was the last plug holding in the flood. "I'm so lost, so fucking lost, every single time I think I'm starting to make some progress I end up right back at the start! I've looked into countless names, searched every damn person on that stupid list and not a single fucking lead! It’s been, what, like, five hours? And not a single goddamn thing worth noting." Her voice was raising with volume as well as intensity, and she was feeling pissed off, at the world, at Javadi, at the endless circles she seemed to be running in these days. She paused long enough to pour another shot, realizing she was going to be about halfway through the bottle by the time her mind emptied itself of all the thoughts floating inside it.

Quinn had only drunk his first, he took a sip out of his glass of water in contrast, still listening, calm but engaged. Carrie briefly considered that he was probably barely out of sleep state and she’d been awake for hours with a caffeine high that was just beginning to crash, badly. But he didn’t stop her, didn’t seem to mind, and she’d had enough of holding it in. So she took a deep breath and started in again, "Brody can't be guilty, he can't be. He was there the whole entire time in the building with me, if he was trying something I would have known!“

She was gesturing with her hands now, like trying to explain the inner workings of her mind, “I mean, think about it, before that, we knew every contact he was meeting with the whole time! We had surveillance on him from the start. Javadi SAID, he SAID he wasn't the one who moved the bomb. But who gave him the keys? How did they get them? Did Brody just hand them over, did he know the whole time? Or maybe, maybe it was a valet driver? Someone lifted them from his belongings?" She was breathing quickly now, pacing, passionate with an idea as usual, all consuming. Her breath was coming fast, she hadn’t eaten since an apple earlier that day and it was wearing on her blood sugar. Drinking was the worst of her ideas by far but she needed it, badly. She took another shot, glancing at Quinn for an answer. His expression was curious, he was watching her, listening to her entire rant but not interrupting. He took another sip of water before answering. “Did you get any sleep?”

She sighed heavily, shook her head, tapping her foot as she stared at the shot glass before pouring another one, “No, I went back to the office, I’ve been trying to make sense of this shit all fucking night long.”

Quinn put his glass down and leaned across the counter on his forearms as she downed the drink, “Maybe you’ll have an easier time finding it if you get some sleep and a decent meal in you.” He said it calmly, not condescending, but Carrie was annoyed anyway. The necessity everyone seemed to feel to remind her to take care of herself. She rolled her eyes at him, shot glass coming down on the table with a smack and stared at him, letting her expression show her indignation.

She hated everyone acting like she couldn’t take care of herself, like she was a damn child that needed careful pampering or she’d self-destruct. But Quinn wasn’t like that, she thought, he wanted her to take of herself, and there was many a time when his concern made her pissed off, seemed so self-righteous. But lately she’d come to see that he genuinely respected her, that he actually wanted her to be okay. He was watching her with a neutral expression, completely unaware of her thoughts, waiting for her to speak. It was almost as if he’d been expecting that reaction, which made her want to scoff. He thought he knew her so well, did he? As she stared at him, he looked different to her somehow, the dim light of the kitchen was hitting on the angle of his cheekbones, the blue of his eyes looking brilliant to her, and she had never noticed it before, how piercing his eyes were. He was still looking at her, that intense gaze he always seemed to have, and she was suddenly aware of how attractive he was. Smooth skin, tan and toned, it looked soft to touch, a strange irony given how hard his line of work was, how blunt he was. She thought of him earlier that evening, opening up to her with an unusual honesty, yet still saying yes when she asked, for reasons she didn’t understand and honestly didn’t care to know right now.

He had a calm strength, some sort of depth that she just couldn’t seem to get to, buried deep inside his mind, there must have been a whole world in his eyes but he was so fucking hard to read, just like his expression when she’d asked for his help. A mystery of a man unlike any she’d met. Even Brody had been easier to understand than Quinn, and she was suddenly intrigued, like a challenge pulling her in.

It felt so strange, thinking this about Quinn. She’d only seen him as a coworker, someone who had her back whenever they worked together, looked out for her, was a mouthy asshole sometimes but did his job supremely well and was damn reliable, even if he argued as stubbornly as her, he almost always relented eventually. But there was this other side to him, the one hidden behind his expressions, the words he swallowed back so often, the time he visited her in the hospital, came to her hearing, told her what she'd done was fucking incredible.

He was a black-ops assassin, dangerous, even lethal for goodness’ sake, with more skills than she could ever know. She’d heard only a little bit about his mission in Caracas but it was enough to surprise her. He wasn’t an ordinary case officer, she knew that by now. He was many things. And right now, she wanted in, she wanted to see behind whatever stoic wall he had.

It’d always worked before, charming someone out of their walls. Even Brody had dropped his fairly quickly when she’d gone this route. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted but Quinn’s calmness right now felt like the challenge she needed, the distraction, all her adrenaline, caffeine, liquor and frustration bundled into a need for some kind of release. She found herself rounding the island to where he was and he stood up to meet her eyes. His face was unreadable once more as she stepped even closer, feeling the warmth radiating off his bare chest, the tension floating between them.

She was practically daring him to make a move but he didn’t react, instead watching her carefully as she stared him down, feeling herself grow all the more aroused. She reached a hand out and placed it on his chest, smooth, just like she figured. His lips parted and he sucked in a soft breath. “Carrie.” He reached up and moved her hand gently off his chest, confusing her.

“What?” She challenged again, impertinent, moving her body even closer but he just responded by stepping back slightly, eyes holding hers. “Carrie, you’re drunk, strung out and you need to sleep.” His words were carefully neutral. He didn’t elaborate on what exactly what that had to do with the current situation but she had a feeling she knew what he meant. She wanted him to say it outright though, the fire in her stomach was pushing her to make him do something. She wanted to kiss him, that’s what she really wanted. His lips looked so tempting right now, she stared at them longingly, thinking about how it would feel to kiss them, run her hands along his chest, through his messy hair, tangle up in bed with him for a night. She wondered what he’d be like in bed and it excited her even more, she had no doubt he’d be an excellent fuck, he was gorgeous, there was no denying that, and considering all of his talents, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d be extremely satisfying. It wasn’t like Brody, she thought, this was something she wanted, needed, right now. A release, a wild distraction, she’d worry about all the consequences later, just another fuck up in a long list of them.

He noticed the look on her face, the heat in her eyes and sighed, gently putting distance between them. Immediately she was annoyed, the heat was gone and she felt cold again, wanting, craving the safety and comfort of his body next to hers. “You should get some sleep.” He said simply. The look in his eyes was one she couldn’t decipher, but she was frustrated that he wasn’t taking her bait.

What the fuck was this? Did Quinn run his life by some ridiculously high moral code? Was he secretly an uptight prude? She thought of the conversation they’d had earlier and it hit her that maybe this was another one of his strange, soul-searching moments of conviction. Unless he honestly wasn’t interested, didn’t find her attractive at all.

It pissed her off, but she didn’t have the mental energy to figure it out, not now. She could hardly believe it, but he was walking away and she found herself following him automatically, the warm haze in her mind telling her how drunk she really was. “Sleep where?” She mumbled, her lips feeling numb, legs wobbly. It was like all of her missed sleep and meals were piling up all at once, draining her of energy and coherence. Damn, he was right, she needed to get some sleep.

“I can drive you home if you want…or you can stay here.” He turned around to face her, she was reaching out for a wall to hold, all at once unsure of where the ground was, feeling shaky. He noticed her instability and suddenly was by her side, supporting her. She started walking, pretty sure she didn’t want to be driving anywhere right now, he’d have to carry her out of the car if she did. “Mmmm..” was all she replied, heading towards the hallway, determined to figure out which room was his. He got the gist that she wasn’t in much shape to head home so he guided her into the master bedroom where he’d been asleep earlier.

“Come on,” He told her calmly, one arm around her side, under her arm, leading her to the bed. She sat down in a frustrated flop and laid back, sighing heavily. “I’m not tired,” She told him, annoyed by the fact that suddenly she was back to where she started, needing to sleep but angry to waste time doing so. Once again being told how to take care of herself. She felt Quinn slipping her shoes off, not replying. He was a quiet walker in almost all cases, but she thought he might have left the room, felt his presence leaving. Cold again. She tried to sit up but only fell back again, an angry huff escaping her lips, “Quinn…” She grumbled, wondering where he went.

She saw him walk back into the room with a glass of water and he sat down next to her, helping her sit up, “Here, drink this,” He handed her the glass, supporting her weight so she could down the entire glass in a few seconds. There, she thought, proving her point about her annoyance to the situation. He didn’t react to that, either, just took the glass and looked back at her.

“When was the last time you ate something?” He asked, reminding her of a tired nurse. She was annoyed, but he had a point. “I had an apple.” She told him pointedly, glaring at his eyebrow raise. “A real meal, Carrie.” He said, that tone back in his voice like he was trying his best to be patient. “I dunno, yesterday…” She frowned, pushing herself away from his shoulder, trying to support her own weight. Like hell he was going to shrug off her advances and then treat her like a fragile child.

“Shit, Carrie, you gotta eat something, you’re going to be sick.” He told her, getting up. She shook her head but didn’t fight it, laying down with a sigh on the pillows, curling up on the tousled sheets. He came back a couple minutes later, with a plate of what looked like crackers, cheese and a banana. She would have laughed if she wasn’t so sleepy, the idea was so absurd, Quinn making and eating normal food, making Carrie a plate of food like she was his stubborn preschooler. She snorted a slight laugh and took a couple crackers and cheese, leaning up on her arm.

“You don’t have to feed me, Quinn,” She muttered, giving him an annoyed glance as she ate. He picked up her shoes and set them to the side of the nightstand, glancing back at her, “You’re gonna feel like shit if you don’t.” He said simply. “I already feel like shit,” She told him, aware she was being a complete asshole but annoyed to be taken care of like a kid. Quinn just gave her a look, a glare but a tired one.

She finished the crackers and cheese and laid down again, arm reaching behind her to find the blankets. He pulled them over her and picked up the plate off the nightstand as she settled into the pillows, noting that they smelled a bit like him. It was oddly comforting, warm. He had been sleeping right here not that long ago and it made her feel a bit settled inside, something she wanted to fight. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know.” She said, eyes closed, unsure if Quinn was even in the room but pretty sure she could feel his presence somewhere nearby.

“Good night, Carrie,” He replied, softly. She could feel him walking away and opened her eyes in time to see his figure walking out of the room. He’d put a shirt on sometime between her ruse in the kitchen and now. She was disappointed, he had a nice body, no doubt, and she’d honestly hoped he’d lay down next to her and she could put her head on his chest, trace the lines of his muscles until she fell asleep like she did with Brody. He was nothing like Brody, she realized, and it was insane that she wanted any of those things, but she told herself it was just the mixture of alcohol an absolutely horrid day of events, and loneliness.

–

Quinn sat down on the couch and let out a long sigh, wondering if the night could get any more exhausting. He’d certainly not expected to see Carrie tonight, and sure as hell didn’t expect her to drunkenly attempt to seduce him after ranting about the innocence of the man she was still in love with. It was all so warped, and it pissed him off. Carrie had been drunk and not in her right mind, but she’d acted like he was some one-night stand, something she wouldn’t even remember in the morning.

Like hell he was going to play that game. He knew her shit, her willingness to do whatever she had to to achieve what she wanted. He wasn’t an asset of hers and had no plans to become another one night stand. But the way she’d looked at him made his heart clench unexpectedly, like maybe she could actually feel like that. But she didn’t, of course, she wanted something temporary, any warm body would do for her in that moment. He was pissed at himself for letting it get to him, with everything else that had happened in the last few months, the last thing he needed was to be letting his mind entertain thoughts of Carrie. He laid down and tried to shut his mind off, fully aware of how strange it was to have Carrie sleeping just a few feet away in his own bed. It was oddly comforting, too, knowing she was there, safe, sleeping. He drifted into an exhausted sleep far sooner than he thought he would, a creeping sense of peace drifting over him.

–

Carrie woke up with a pounding headache, completely disoriented. She sat up too fast and a sharp pain ran through her head, causing her to mutter a curse. She wasn’t in her bed, and it panicked her for a moment when she didn’t see anyone else next to her. It was 4:57 A.M. according to the clock on the nightstand, still pitch pitch black outside.

She remembered the night before like a sudden smack to the face. Showing up on Quinn’s doorstep, drinking way more than she should’ve, trying to seduce him into sleeping with her. Shit. She stared at the messed up spot on the bed where she’d been sleeping, where Quinn had been sleeping before her, and finally pushed herself off the bed. She tiptoed to the bathroom and did her business as quietly as possible, hoping Quinn was still asleep.

All the lights were still off in the hallway when she got out and it was silent, so she stalked silently toward the living room. Quinn was sleeping on the couch, as she guessed, looking peaceful yet still frowning and serious as always. Classic Quinn, she quirked a little smirk at the thought of being at his house, sleeping in his bed, of all the crazy shit they’d been through in the last few months, it was about the very last thing she’d expected.

She watched him sleep for a couple minutes longer, his breathing hardly even noticeable but she was a good judge of fake sleeping and his seemed genuine. He had a thin black blanket laying over his waist, halfway covering him and half on the floor and for a split second she wanted to pick it up and cover him with it. The thought felt ridiculously domestic and she was surprised at herself. It wasn’t like Carrie to want to do things like that but he looked so calm, comfortable. It made that tingling warm feeling come back and she tiptoed back to her room, shaking her head. She pulled her blazer back on and grabbed her shoes from beside the nightstand where Quinn left them when he helped her to bed ever so patiently the night before, and quietly headed for the door.

She took one last look at Quinn’s sleeping figure before opening the door and closing it softly behind her. They should talk about last night, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t. She was grateful, though, that Quinn hadn’t made it awkward, that he’d simply done what he always did and had her back. She could count on him for it and it was a comforting thought to have. More than ever she was damn glad to be doing this with him, amongst all the shitty things happening in their lives, at least they had each other’s backs.

–

Quinn woke up to the sound of a door closing quietly, and he knew immediately that it was Carrie. Of course she’d left first thing in the morning, no one ever accused Carrie of being good at talking about awkward subjects. He wondered what the game of choice would be today for the two of them, ignore the elephant in the room? Pretend it didn't even happen? Act like they'd both forgotten the night before? All of them were possibilities and none of them made him feel any better than he already did. He'd only had one shot to all of Carrie's and yet somehow he woke up feeling like the drunk one, hungover and exhausted. He wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep but he knew it would be a bad idea. He'd be asleep for twelve hours straight and probably wouldn't feel much more rested after it. Plus, Carrie was bound to be up and at 'em in a half hour and he was slightly concerned she'd have a real hangover. Unless, somehow, with her magical abilities of just being Carrie, she was completely unaffected and woke up bright and energized, ready to take on the rest of the unsuspecting world. 

He stared into the darkness of his living room a bit longer, taking in the comfort of being almost-asleep, before making himself get up. He needed a shower, a real breakfast, some coffee, and some semblance of getting his shit together before he could face Carrie again. 

-

When Carrie got to Langley it was silent in the office, very few souls were up tackling their projects at the soul-crushing hour of six A.M. She'd gone home briefly to change and eat a yogurt and a banana before driving back to work. Eating the banana made her think of Quinn and the night before, which was utterly and completely absurd but she _almost_ smiled at the memory. Tired, annoyed nurse Quinn. It was hilarious, and yet also a bit embarrassing. Ordinarily she wouldn't have cared if she had a little tryst with a coworker so long as she got some kind of benefit out of it. Estes and Brody had both been unexpected flings that turned into something else, Estes with a very bad ending, and Brody with an entire mess of feelings she'd never planned for but fell into all the same. But she was so relieved she hadn't done it with Quinn. She didn't know why but _something_ would have been different about it. It just wasn't right. Whatever she had with him, it was too valuable to risk over a momentary pleasure. 

Twenty minutes later, Carrie was deep into another pile of files when Quinn came through the door, freshly put together with crisp clothes and hair. She found it ironic how quickly he reverted back into business mode. It was like he was _always_ in business mode. He seemed entirely unaffected and unconcerned with the events of the night before and it almost made her more upset than if he had straight out mentioned it. There he went again, back to being unreadable and unreachable. Stoic Quinn as usual. He placed a cup of coffee down for her and had a Red Bull for himself. She was glad for the coffee, having underestimated how much she drank last night. 

"You got anything so far?" He asked, cool, professional She shook her head, slouching back in her seat, watching him set up his laptop. "About last night-" She started but he butted in, "Forget about it." She wasn't about to let him get off that easily. "No, really, I didn't mean it, it was just...a long week." He looked up at her, missing nothing, "I know." She rolled her eyes, of course he would take it like that. She hadn't meant to sound like she didn't mean it, as in, she didn't even realize what she was doing. There was no denying that he _was_ attractive, and in any other circumstances she'd be all in, but she couldn't lose the working relationship they'd developed. "I didn't mean it like _that._ " She told him, perturbed. He didn't reply, sitting down at his laptop and opening it up. She wanted to shake him, get an answer out somehow. Here they went again, pushing and pulling away and over and over until somebody snapped first. 

"Quinn, are we good?" She asked, sitting up and moving closer to the desk. He glanced up from his screen and gave her a look, annoyed. "Sure, Carrie." She huffed and felt the slight urge to smack him. "Fuck, Quinn, why do you always have to be so goddamn stoic?" She saw a brief flash in his eyes and for a second she was victorious, she'd snapped him out of his unaffected routine. He stood up abruptly, "Why does it bother you?" He snapped back, "Not everyone goes around yelling in people's faces every ten minutes and gets to keep their job."

She crossed her arms, in for the win now. He wanted to insult her working methods, fine. "Well at least I have emotions, at least I'm a goddamn _human being,_ who actually, I dunno, gives a fuck about anything? Who feels _something!_ " He was glowering now, gaze so fierce it could probably burn someone alive. She didn't bat an eye. Still clearly pissed, he turned to leave and she grabbed him by his elbow, feeling his whole body tense at the reaction. The look on his face told her he probably would have socked anyone else in the face for doing it. Nonetheless, he'd turned around. "Don't you fucking walk away from me. We're not done here, not by a long shot." She told him, fury blaring through her and reflecting out to him. 

"Then _what,_ Carrie? What aren't done with?" She still hadn't let go of his elbow, it felt like the only thing tethering him to her, like if she let go he'd be gone before she could blink. She could feel the tension under her hand, he wasn't staying or going, just waiting. "For starters, what is this about you wanting out of the CIA? Was that just a spur-of-the-moment thing or are you _actually_ considering it?" He furrowed his brow, looking genuinely confused, "No, I've been considering that for a long time." Well damn, that wasn't what she was hoping to hear. She swallowed back the weird sense of fear that gave her and pressed to the next question. "And what about brushing me off last night? You too good for me or something? Or just like being an asshole?" That felt a little more rash, a little less collected than she'd hoped to be, and she regretted it a bit. But he just let out a frustrated sigh and broke out of her grasp to face her properly. " _That_ was you being drunk and needing to sleep." His voice was far quieter than hers and she felt unsettled by the way she felt like she needed to calm down a bit, that maybe she was taking out her anger on him for no real reason at all. For such a gifted people reader, she always felt a step behind when it came to Quinn and it was unnerving. 

He still hadn't entirely answered her question and she had a feeling that he wasn't saying _everything_ , but she wasn't about to push it more. "Well...thank you...for last night." She relented finally. He stared at her, calculating, for a moment, wondering whether to believe this admission or not. Finally he nodded and she attempted a little half-smile. "Truce?" She asked with a shrug. He almost smiled back in spite of himself when she extended her hand, both of them like two kindergartners. "Truce." He said back and she actually smiled this time. When they both went back to work the atmosphere felt lighter, better. A few times they caught eyes over their screens and broke away with hidden little smiles. She felt weird, happy, tiniest bit nervous but not in a bad way. Just...like something new was starting. Like she could bottle up those little smiles he never gave and rib him about them later. But not too much, because she liked the way he smiled. Among other things.

So all in all, maybe her drunken lapse in judgement wasn't all that bad after all. Whatever the future held after this, she was hoping deep down that he wouldn't leave the agency for a long fucking time. And that thought warranted another little smile, one he cheekily returned. 


End file.
